


Dorian Pavus The Cat Dad

by Sonamae



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Fluff, M/M, No Plot/Plotless, Self-Indulgent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-13
Updated: 2017-09-13
Packaged: 2018-12-27 17:15:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12085626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sonamae/pseuds/Sonamae
Summary: Dorian finds a magic cat and decides to kept it, or should I say she decides to keep Dorian.





	Dorian Pavus The Cat Dad

**Author's Note:**

> This is unedited nonsense that I wanted to write just because. As a cat dad, I fully support the headcanon that Dorian loves cats and that's why he's so "Ugh" about dogs.

Skyhold was drippy and musty, but it was better than what was left of Haven so Dorian couldn't complaign. Better than the bitter cold and stomping around in the snow for all hours of the day trying not to die too. There was also plenty of work to be done, and Dorian could breath and have his own space here, rather than share cramped quarters. He could feel how sickly and tired the wood and stone was under his fingers as he walked the halls, how old magic crooned at him. No one questioned him when he 'called dibs' as Sera put it. They let him have a space secluded away from everyone else, and the first thing he secured for himself was a new door. He fully intended to sleep there one day, but he knew most of his nights would probably be spent curled up in the library they were outfitting. Dorian would be reduced to pouring over papers and researching more than he would be resting, he could just feel it.

He commissioned a chair right away with what little coin he had left, claiming a spot in the library and asserting his dominance. Which was to say he hovered and left his bags there, shooing anyone away when they got too close. His days would be reduced to reading trashy Fereledan literature when he wasn't off fighting evil or researching _how_ to fight evil.

His bedroom was something he wasn't looking forward to cleaning, so he tried to do anything other than that. There were still some things he fix around Skyhold. So instead of working on his own space, he tried to win favor by helping others clean out the war room, then helped find a spot for the hunting mutts and one or two of the mabari that were now orphaned. They weren't what he was used too, more muscle than sleek form and light grace, but they smiled the way only a dog could and it was _almost_ enough.

They still barked too loudly and jumped at him with enough force to nearly knock him over, ruining his robes, but he'd take it. Dorian had never actually been a dog person, but it was the closest he'd get to a cat in comparison to every other pet kept in Fereldan. 

They beat out nugs by a mile, that was for certain.

After changing his robes in the kitchens, he helped make a filling dinner of dumplings and broth, then took his helping and trudged back to his mess of a bedroom. The last time he'd set foot in there that morning, the hole in the roof had shown light down on a mildew and molded bed, which he'd promptly thrown over the castle wall. 

When he got there now, sitting outside his door was a fresh bedroll and pillow. There was also a note scribbled on it in handwriting from the kitchen staff.

_'We won't forget this kindness.'_

Never had he felt a deeper love for running away and surviving off the kindness of others than he did right now. He'd fully intended to sleep on the floor and gather up a bedroll from the garrison after a bribe or two. But no, instead he had a soft bedroll and a new recipe to add to his ever growing collection. His mother would have feinted on the spot if she'd found out he'd taken to cooking.

Dorian sat outside the door and ate his food in the silence, watching as the stars began coming out overhead. Once the bowl was half empty, he set it aside and let his head rest against the reinforced wood of his door. Without thinking, he turned the handle and pushed the door open, letting it swing inward as he slid down with it. The ceiling came into view as he lowered himself to the floor, the musty air rushing toward the door.

He could see stars shining through the hole in the ceiling, vines creeping down the wall. He wondered how the room was so musty if the hole had been there long enough for plants to grow through it. Reaching up a hand, he thought about his magic and closed his eyes. Dorian thought about the dust around him turning into sand so he could smooth it over the hole and strike it with lightning to turn it into glass. When he charged up a lightning bolt into his palm, he opened his eyes and froze.

There... was a _cat_ staring at him over the edge of the hole. A very large, very fluffy, matted haired cat. Bright green eyes blinked down at him while a black face with a messy gray body sat perched carelessly on a wooden plank. The cats front paws settled over the edge of the hole, little black mitts that were so at odds with the gray torso.

Dorian was at a loss for words. 

The cat made a noise that could have resembled a meow, were one to interpret the squeaking sound as anything cat related.

“Umm... hello there? Am I intruding?” He asked as the cat stood up and stretched. He caught a glimpse of the tangled but poofy tail curl, the fur dragging along the wood. The tail flicked back and forth a few times before the cat jumped from the hole to the water swollen dresser, then to the floor. Dorian rolled over, watching the cat freeze for a few seconds before it went back to walking over to a pile of old bed sheets.

Giving them a tentative sniff, the cat began kneading the fabric before climbing into the mess and curling into a ball.

That was when Dorian noticed the mildewed and burnt collar that was barely holding on.

“Oh, you belong to someone.” The cat flicked its tail. “Or, you _used_ to.” He paused and slowly sat up, careful not to startle the poor thing as he pulled the bowl of food toward him. With great care, Dorian nudged it closer to the cat and watched the way it eyed the bowl with interest. When he sat back the cat sat up, huffing and puffing before it stumbled out of the bundle of fabrics and wobbled over to sniff at the bowl's contents.

Deeming them worthy, it began to eat.

Dorian let out a breath he hadn't known he'd been holding and the cat tensed, but continued to eat. The matted fur was absolutely vile, possibly molding in places, and what he could see of the collar was far too tight. Beneath the fur, Dorian guessed the cat was skinnier than it needed to be, but healthy enough to have survived.

How had it even gotten here? From the looks of the place, the castle had been abandoned for centuries. The cat couldn't have been more than what, two or three years old? A mystery for the ages he supposed, perhaps the dear belonged to someone from Haven?

He'd ask around tomorrow, for now he needed sleep. Gingerly he unrolled the bedding he'd been provided and laid it on the floor in view of the door. With a flick of his wrist all the dust in the room billowed out via the hole in the ceiling, and to his surprise the cat didn't flinch as much as normal cats might have.

So, a mysterious creature raised around mages. How interesting.

Dorian twirled his wrists and used a few of his rings as focuses, lifting a few rotted but serviceable planks toward the hole to patch it instead of his first idea. Nothing was nailed down of course, but for now it would keep the wind and snow out. His staff was tucked against the edge of his bedroll, his pillow propped against one wall so he could easily defend himself in case anyone entered in the night.

And that's how he sat, listening to the snuffling and huffing of a very hungry cat across the room. As he drifted off, he wondered if it was a good idea to lock himself in a room with a stray. There was no telling if the cat had diseases after all, or if it really _was_ a cat.

Dorian ran a halfhearted hand through the air in the general direction of the mass of fur to detect any illusion magic. No tug of the stuff, this was a perfectly normal cat.

He fell asleep due to sheer exhaustion.

–

Dorian dreamt of the cat he'd taken care of under the watchful eyes of his mother when he was a child, a skinny little hairless thing with more love in its pinkie toe than in his fathers entire body. Being seven, he'd named the cat Nightshade and dotted tireless hours toward his care. Nightshade had his own room that connected to Dorian's that was temperature controlled. The cat had his own wardrobe with his own sweaters and finery. He even had his own bath, his own jewelry, and the utter love and devotion of one Dorian Pavus. Never before had Dorian cared so much about anything, let alone anyone.

His father hated cats, but his mother adored them, so Halward tolerated Nightshade with the air of someone bidding their time. Aquninea, bless her, supported her son as long as _he_ was the one taking care of the cat and not a slave. While she traded pets every few months, she put her foot down sternly in favor of Dorian keeping Nightshade for as long as he wanted him. Which happened to be forever.

Ten years later and Nightshade had grown old and frail, already a fourteen year old purebred. Dorian, a seventeen year old trouble maker, still devoted all his time and affection to his cat no matter what else he had on hand.

And then one night he'd woke up to an empty bed. Nightshade had crawled into one of the many caves Dorian had built him and refused to come out, and that was when Dorian _knew._ He sat in the climate controlled room just outside the place Nightshade had chosen to die and bawled his eyes out, unabashed. His mother found him hours later, an utter disaster, and before she could scold him she took one look at the little cave and gasped.

She had stopped being physically affectionate when he'd turned five, but now she was sitting on the floor with him with her arms curled tight around his shoulders. Neither one of them said anything when Nightshade stumbled out of the cave and made a sloppy jump to the floor, or when he drank from his water bowl and returned instead to Dorian's lap and gave his arm a soft, gentle lick.

He died in Dorian's arms with his head pressed into the crook of Dorian's elbow. 

He'd never felt so broken before, not even the times he'd been beat up by the other children at the Circles. He'd never _felt_ pain like this.

“Do you want me to help you bury him?” His mother had asked, drawing him out of his grief. Dorian simply nodded, not moving to stand. “Alright, we won't tell your father.” She kissed the top of his head, fingers trailing through his hair.

A week later, his father shipped him off to Minrathous.

–

He woke from the dream and knew there were tears on his cheeks, but he dared not move to wipe them away. After all, the cat had, at some point in the night, deemed him worthy enough to sleep upon. Curled up in a dirty, slightly smelly mess on his hip was this mysterious, purring creature. Dorian sniffed and blinked away the tears the best he could, then attempted to shift enough to reach his staff, but not enough to wake the cat.

A futile effort of course.

The cat huffed and stretched, little claws spread out over Dorian's collar bones before it hopped off of him and walked to the door, scratching at the frame.

“Excuse you.” Dorian sat up, staff in one hand and offense in the other. “That is not how you ask to go outside.” The cat huffed and snuffled at him once again, flopping to the floor to begin grooming its paw. Sighing, Dorian turned to look for his bags, forgetting momentarily that he'd left them in the library under wards elbow deep.

Of _course_. There was no changing out of these clothes in the semi-comfort of his new rooms today. Not unless he trudged across the great hall, up the steps, and then walked all the way back with his bags. That all seemed pointless and absurd, so instead he divested of his robes, shucked the under garments into a pile, then traded his top two robes to make it look like he'd at least _attempted_ to dress himself. Always layer your clothing, Felix had taught him that.

Oh... sweet Felix...

Dorian shook his head and was startled when the cat rubbed against his leg, that scratchy meow erupting from its throat before it darted back to the door. Jumping onto its back paws, it started scratching at the door frame again.

“No you don't you little hellion.” Dorian picked up his staff and cast a barrier over the wood. The cat hissed at it before shuffling behind his legs in a scurry. “I'll get you a scratching post if you come back, but leave the furniture alone. That includes the walls.” As he walked toward the door, cat trailing after him, he realized he probably wouldn't be seeing this cat again.

More the pity.

But this wouldn't be the first time he'd stayed in a strange place with strays, and he doubted it would be the last. 

“Be good, watch out for the dogs.” He opened the door and watched the cat bolt into the morning sunlight and take the stairs two at a time. Such a pretty thing beneath all that mess.

Shaking his head, Dorian strapped his staff to his back. He'd get his things from the library after breakfast.

–

Once in the room below his intended destination, he watched as Solas glared at the bare walls. Pausing, he stood next to the elf and examined the offending structure.

“It's very... _currant_.” He commented.

Solas flicked a glance at him and nodded. “It's not a very attractive shade of red, no.” Solas made a face akin to smelling something rotten. “And the wall is so old that I'd need to re-plaster it before I could even start to paint.” Dorian tried not to roll his eyes.

“I thought you were doing that anyway. I'm positive your words were something along the lines of not wanting the library to echo below to you?” He watched Solas' face scrunch further in on himself. Soon he'd have a double chin.

“I don't want to prioritize plaster. Murals are important, but so is restoration.” Solas turned and waved toward the great hall. “There are plenty of rooms that need it more, the library is already getting a few coats as we speak, how the smell hasn't gotten to me yet I'll never know.”

Dorian sighed and tried not to roll his eyes. “Solas, just get a bucket and go to town before your glare kills some poor soul who steps in with a weaker constitution than I.” He listened to Solas' indignant huffing as he rounded the steps. “If you need anything, you know where I am.” He listened to Solas swearing under his breath. He'd have to tell him he knew what those words meant one of these days, but not now.

When he turned the railing, the Inquisitor was sitting on the floor in front of his designated nook and... cooing.

“Darling, I'm almost tempted not to ask, but I have to know. When exactly did you crack?” He teased as he walked toward her.

“Shush.” The Inquisitor flapped a hand ineffectually toward him, a comical sight coming from a Qunari mage. “Oh no, oh _no_ your little nose is all scrunched up. Look at you, oh no.” She looked up at Dorian, tears threatening to fall down her cheeks. “I'm going to die! You have to help me!” She pointed at the wards. “I can't get to the cat.”

Dorian couldn't stop himself from letting out a bark of laughter as he walked closer. “Darling, what are yo talking about?” As he stepped behind Addar's kneeling form, he saw the way his wards had weaved back together after someone had slipped through.

Or in this case, _something._

The cat from this morning was laying on its back next to his bag beneath the chair, paws batting at a tassel on the pillow hanging off the edge. The creature looked up, let out a croaky meow as it eyed Dorian, then went back to smacking the tassel. Addar made a broken noise, one fist clutched to her chest while the other reached out and smacked at Dorian's thigh.

“Oww.” He peeled her hand off his robe and knelt down, peering at the cat. “How did it get passed my wards?” He wondered.

“It's covered in runes.” Addar whispered. “It's a _magic_ cat, Dorian why didn't you tell me you had a _magical_ cat?” She turned an accusatory lack of eyebrow at him.

“Felicia, I didn't tell you because I don't _own_ a cat.” Dorian said plainly as he started unstitching his wards. “I found it in my room, or, well, it found me in my room.” He paused as the wards shimmered. “But... darling, how do you feel about giving this mess of a cat a bath with me?” He shared a look with Addar and both of them turned to the unassuming creature beneath the chair.

“I... are we going to need armor for that?” She asked.

“Oh, quite possibly.” He watched as Addar pushed herself to her feet. “Where are you going?”

She waved a hand at the cat. “Obviously to get us supplies and like... armor, and towels.” She turned to the railing and leaned over it. “Solas, you're good with figuring shit out, get up here!”

The groan was inaudible, but Dorian knew it was there. As much as he loved Addar, and lord wasn't that a funny thought, she was sort of... pushy. She jumped down the stairs, giggling the entire way and knocking her staff into the wall as she went. Dorian smiled after her, fond and so utterly grateful for a friend like her. He turned back to see the cat stretching and rolling onto its side, kneading the open air as it yawed.

His stomach did something awful at the sight, jumping passed his heart and curling into his throat.

Shit.

–

“What the _fuck_ is that sound?” Stitches asked, needle and thread held taut against Krem's shoulder. “It sounds like someone is summoning a demon.” He continued his work on the wound as Krem screamed into the pillow on the cot. “Oh suck it up, you're the one who didn't want anything for the pain.”

“He's a big boy, he can handle it.” Rocky said soothingly as he pat Krem's uninjured shoulder. “It's not his fault anyway, at least it was a clean cut.”

“A board full of nails flying at his face isn't clean.” Stitches informed him, looking up as the unearthly yeowling coming from the main hall sounded off again. “Seriously, should we be worried?”

The Iron Bull grunted from his spot at his desk as he readjusted his monocle. “It's a cat.” He muttered as he lifted a paper to his face. “Shit, chicken scratch, Skinner.” He passed the paper over to her and she glared at it. As he picked up another, the sound echoed along the walls. “Someone's giving it a bath.”

Stitches snorted as he cut the last thread after tying it off. “I wish I could believe that, it sounds more like a demon to me.” He listened to the way The Iron Bull scoffed.

“If it were a demon, we wouldn't be sitting here leisure as you please.” Dalish muttered as she tugged at the string on her 'bow.' “Chief would have thrown on us to our feet, half cocked.” She smiled when the string thrummed under her finger when she plucked it.

“Telling you, it's a cat.” The Iron Bull said when Skinner passed the paper back.

“Orlesians, not worth it.” She muttered, nose scrunched as Bull took the paper and tossed it onto a pile full of crumpled notes.

Krem screamed into the pillow again when Stitches poured a clear liquid over the wound, legs kicking out as Grim held him down.

“Aww, lad, you're done now!” Rocky said happily. “I'll get you a strong one, how 'bout that?” Krem moaned and shook against the pillow.

“I'm going to go check that noise out.” Stiches decided as he started wrapping up Krem's shoulder.

“Going to be disappointed.” The Iron Bull said with a smirk.

“Better safe than sorry.” Stitches snapped.

–

“That is _not_ a cat.” Stitches decided as he stared at the shivering lump Dorian had wrapped in a towel and held close to his chest. “It's a demon.” The main hall floor was covered in soapy water, and a few noble women were still sitting on tables as they pointed at the cat creature.

“You leave Concrete alone.” Addar snapped, covered in scratches and trickles of blood. There was a cut on her cheek that looked rather nasty. “No cat likes getting a bath.” Dorian sighed and shook his head.

“I refuse to call her that.” He said simply as the cat tucked its head under his chin. He hushed its growl and set the scissors he'd been holding on the table nearest him. There were freshly cut matts and chunks of fur there.

Addar huffed and wiped the blood away from her cheek, only smearing it in doing so. “That was the name on her collar! She answers to it!” Addar said in protest as a Healer patched her up. “Hurry up and dry her, I want to put a new collar on her.”

Dorian huffed and rolled his eyes. “Oh no, I'm not letting you near her anymore.” He rubbed his cheek against the towel as the cat yeowled sadly. “Don't worry Primrose, I'll protect you from the mean ol' qunari.”

Stitches watched as Addar scoffed and stuck her tongue out at him. “I gave her the bath! And don't call her that, her name is Concrete.” She said, arms crossing as she smirked.

“No. Fuck this. I'm out.” Stitches turned and left the great hall as Dorian and Addar began to playfully argue.

–

Dorian laid back on his new bed and sighed happily, his book resting on his chest as the cat jumped and curled up on his stomach. “Hello darling.” He said, fingers carding through the thick gray fur as the cat began to purr. It had been several months since his argument over 'ownership' of the stray in Skyhold. The runes carved into her skin apparently were a preservation, she was supposedly as old as the castle, and as long as it stood, so would she.

A sad thought, but one that Dorian was quietly grateful for.

'Concrete' was far more fond of him than Addar, though she often found her way into Addar's lap when it was obvious the woman needed the comfort. Most nights she was here though, curled up on Dorian and aggressively purring. Though there was the fun night when someone from the kitchens would come find him and demand he take 'his hellion out of there.'

A knock on his door made him look up, and when Concrete made no move to scatter or hide he smiled and relaxed. “You may enter.” His hand trailed to the side of his bed though, as it always did, and gripped the staff he kept there. The door pushed open and in walked The Iron Bull, a scarf around his neck and a tray in his free hand.

“Hey Dorian, Concrete.” He addressed both occupants before shutting the door behind him. “You weren't in the tavern tonight, we missed you.” Dorian smiled as The Iron Bull set the tray down on the bedside table and pulled a chair close. Concrete chirped at him sleepily, eyes shut when a hand came down to stroke across her back.

“It's freezing outside, I didn't want to have to make the trip all the way out to the tavern and back.” Dorian shrugged as he eyed the tray The Iron Bull had brought. Two large mugs and two bowls of steaming stew were visible behind his arm, and something else hidden by paper. “Did you bring me dinner?” He couldn't help but grin.

“Well, yeah.” The Iron Bull shrugged. “I know I've been rather... pushy lately. I wanted you to know I'm not trying to make you uncomfortable, so... dinner.” He waved a hand at the tray, then smirked when Concrete made that scratchy meow. “Yeah, I got you something too, didn't forget about my favorite bird killer.” He said sweetly as he pushed a tankard aside to show off the fish scraps wrapped in paper.

“She's going to get fat with the way you people spoil her.” Dorian muttered as Concrete jumped off his stomach and pattered to the end of the bed in front of Bull. Her tail was lashing in expectant glee.

“Same could be said of you.” The Iron Bull said as he set the plate on the floor in front of the bed. Concrete huffed and climbed onto the rug before she began picking through her treats.

Dorian scoffed. “Hardly, no one spoils me quite like they spoil my cat.” He closed his book and set it aside, then paused when he felt eyes on him.

Or in this case, eye.

The Iron Bull was giving him one of those looks reserved for when he thought Dorian was being silly. “What?” Dorian asked, fighting off the flush he felt creeping up his chest.

“ _I_ spoil you that much.” He held out a tankard and grinned. “It's one of the things I like about you, that you're easy to spoil.” Dorian shook his head, but took the tankard anyway.

“Bringing me dinner and terrible beer doesn't count as spoiling me.” Dorian muttered before taking a slow sip. Ugh, it really was terrible, he _loved_ it.

“I do way more than that, now do you mind if I?” He indicated the spot next to Dorian on the bed. Dorian happily scoot over so Bull could climb atop the mattress with him.

“What do you do?” Dorian asked as Bull passed him his bowl of stew.

“I got the Chargers to properly fix your roof.” The Iron Bull began listing things off. “I get the kitchen maids to save you extra food when you get buried in your books. I barter with the sellers to stock more things I know you'll find useful but are too stubborn to ask for. I help you move your ridiculous furniture up to your room wen you could easily do it with magic. I stopped trying to sling blood on you after I behead something. I-” He was cut off by Dorian's laughter.

“Alright alright, stop trying to show off.” Dorian rolled his eyes and began eating, grateful for the company and quiet that settled between them.

After he and The Iron Bull had finished their bowls, Bull spoke up. “I also spoil your cat to spoil you.” He shifted on the bed, throwing his arm not so subtly around Dorian's shoulders. “I mean, its not like I'm sucking up to Concrete so you'll like me better or anything, but I'm totally sucking up to Concrete so you'll like me better.” There was a surprising amount of embarrassment in his voice as he said it.

Dorian downed the last of his tankard and set it on the floor, then with a lot of shifting, threw his leg over The Iron Bull's lap so he was straddling him. At first, neither of them said anything when Dorian leaned in, but Bull stopped him with a gentle hand on his chest.

“What about your cat?” He asked. Dorian turned his head and shrugged.

“She's asleep in her cat tree, it's fine. And I do like you, a lot. Now, can we...” He trailed off and bit his lip. The Iron Bull smiled and pulled him down for a kiss. Things were working out just fine.

–

“Fuck!” The Iron Bull fell off the bed the next day as a twenty pound cat thumped onto his stomach. Dorian got up from his desk and laughed as he scooped Concrete into his arms and held her close. “Fucking cats.”

“I told you she jumps on you if you stay in bed too long! I tried to get you up, but you wanted to sleep in.” Dorian deposited Concrete on the top of her cat tree by the door, where she preened and meowed impatiently to be let out.

“Fuck the both of you.” Bull grumbled from the floor.

“Well you already did me, but I'm not letting you fuck my cat.” Dorian opened the door and smiled as Concrete ran outside.

“Don't you dare start.” The Iron Bull sat up and rubbed at his eye, then looked over to Dorian with a pout. “Why are you dressed, get naked and get back in the bed.” Dorian laughed.

“It's passed noon.” Dorian said, a weak protest.

“So, I don't have to be anywhere, do you?” The Iron Bull climbed back onto the bed, arms outstretched. “Come here.” Dorian groaned, but walked toward the bed anyway.


End file.
